


The Brother of the Betrayer

by WarlicElfire



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft II, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Betrayal, Dark Magic, Death, Family, Hubris, Magic, Pride, Undeath, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18351716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarlicElfire/pseuds/WarlicElfire
Summary: The High Elves, fueled by the glorious Sunwell, once ruled the greatest civilization on Azeroth, until Death came for them and they were betrayed from within. While all the survivors curse his name, few know how Dar'Khan Drathir fell to darkness. But there is one who knew him better than all others, one whose pride inadvertently helped Dar'Khan down his dark path: his brother. This is the story of Altheron Drathir, Magister and member of the Convocation, the story of his pride and fall. This is the story of the Brother of the Betrayer.





	The Brother of the Betrayer

~~~~

The Brother of the Betrayer

It was called the Sunwell. You could not begin to imagine what it meant to my people. To me. A sacred fount of untold power, its magical energies saturated every fiber of our being. In the warmth of its glow, we thrived. My people, the Quel’dorei, known to your kind as the High Elves, used the Sunwell’s power to build our glorious kingdom of Quel’Thalas. I am not writing to you now to tell the history of my people, nor the story of the Sunwell. But for you to understand my story, you must understand the importance of the Sunwell. It was the heart of our civilization, the heart of all my aspirations, and the heart of my hubris.

My name is Altheron Drathir, and I was born the first son of a noble house, one of the oldest and greatest in Quel’Thalas. Only the royal Sunstriders and legendary Windrunners held more respect. As the eldest son of the House of Drathir, I was the heir to a long line of Magisters, the wizards who ruled the highest echelons of High Elven society. From my birth it was expected that I would one day take my father’s place in the capital of Silvermoon and claim his seat in the Convocation, the council that governed our people.

But that day was far in the future, and I was young. In those early years of life, I thought little of the grand responsibility waiting for me. My days were filled with adventures in the golden woods that surrounded our home, escaping servants and parents to climb the silver boughs and hide among their golden leaves, imagining myself fighting off savage troll warbands or uncovering lost ruins filled with treasure and ancient magic. I had a connection with those woods, with the wind that blew through the canopy, with the beasts that prowled beneath. Out there, among the enchanted wilds, I was more at home than I ever was in the halls of Dawnstar Spire, my family’s ancestral home. It was in this time that the longing for the Sunwell began to claim a place within my mind and heart. I could feel its power in the air, in the trees, and in the ground itself, and I dreamed of one day seeing that font for myself, to touch its power directly.

As years passed, new children joined our family. First came my sister, Alana. She was born already bearing a head of perfect golden hair, the servants all declaring that she would grow to be an unparalleled beauty. Alana shared my love for the golden woodlands, though her escapades were typically less extreme than mine. As we played in the forests, it was always her who kept me in check, pulling me away from the more dangerous areas. Then came my brother, Dar’Khan, named after an ancestor who had fallen in the Troll Wars. Dar’Khan’s raven locks contrasted sharply with the golden hair Alana and I shared, setting him apart from the beginning. Dar’Khan was quickly infected by my longing for the Sunwell, fantasizing about the day when he might direct its power himself.

Back then, things were simple. I loved showing off to my little brother and sister, especially Dar’Khan, who looked up to me in everything. I remember one afternoon, when I had only just begun learning the basics of magic…

It was a bright, sunny day, and I ran through the doors of the Spire, my new robes dirty and slightly torn from my latest adventure. “Dar! Dar!” My little brother came down the stairs, a look of confusion on his face.

“What is it Alty?” Dar’Khan asked as he jumped down the last few steps, his eyes wide.

“Look what I just figured out!” I held my hands close together, close to Dar’Khan’s face so he could see every detail. I focused hard, scrunching my eyebrows together and holding my breath. Then, as my face began to burn, sparks leaped between my fingertips, the arcane energy that suffused our homeland answering my call, if only in the smallest of ways. But small as it was, to Dar’Khan and I, it was monumental.

“Wow!” Dar’Khan gasped. “That’s amazing!” His face grew determined, and he declared, “One day I’ll be as good as you!”

I just smiled at him, exultant in my little show of power. “One day maybe. Then we can go see the Sunwell together!”

I will never forget the look in his eyes then. Wonder, awe, and desire all mingled to create the most perfect image of innocent hope I have ever seen. To this day, I still have difficulty reconciling the image of that boy with the thing that he became.

It wasn’t long after that when our father decided that the time had come for me to begin truly studying the secrets of the arcane. But for that, I needed to leave my home and the forest around it for the first time in my life and become an apprentice at the academies of magic in the glorious city of Silvermoon. I stared out of the back window of the carriage at my home and siblings as I was pulled away, finally beginning the journey to my destiny.

My first glimpse of the city came not long after dawn, the morning rays shining through the window and into my eyes, slowly pulling me from my slumber. The carriage rocked smoothly with the motions of the hawkstriders, large, brightly-plumed birds that my people use for both mounts and beasts of burden, two of which pulled my carriage. As I awoke, I looked out the windows and let in a gasp of shocked breath as I laid eyes for the first time on the capital city of our great civilization.

The walls of Silvermoon rose high into the sky, pure white stone accented by swirling patterns of gold, studded with sapphire. The gold and gemstones reflected the light of the morning sun into glorious multi-hued patterns that danced across the white stone, like something out of a dream. The same golden and silver trees that filled the woods of my home lined the road to the city’s open gates, but these were different, neatly trimmed and expertly grown to enhance the beauty of the city, not wild and untamed like those I had climbed so many times. As the carriage made its way through the gates, we received a nod from the guardians of the city, standing proud in their azure and gold armor, their curved blades and high shields at attention.

If the walls had not already stolen my breath, I would have cried out from the sheer beauty I beheld as we passed through the gates and a new world opened itself to me. The Sunwell’s power could be felt throughout our homeland, but I had never felt it with such force as I did entering our capital for the first time. The towers of the city rose high into the clouds, some of them unaided by foundations, as entire structures floated in the sky above simple earth-bound buildings, mocking the universal laws which sought in vain to pull them down to the level of their lessers. As we continued our journey, we saw gardens with trees and strange plants I couldn’t identify twisted into beautiful, unnatural shapes, enchanted brooms sweeping the city’s streets, massive golems of gold, steel, and glittering gemstones, and more people than I had ever imagined existed in the entire world. We saw elves with hair of every shade of the rainbow and elaborate outfits of shades I hadn’t even known existed. It was chaotic and confusing and beautiful. And through it all, from the crystals animating the golems to the flying spires to the faint sapphire light in the eyes of every elf in the city, hummed the glorious power of the Sunwell. This was the heart of everything that made us Quel’dorei, the Children of High Birth. What other city could possibly compare to the glory of our capital, filled as it was with the beauty and power of the eternal Sunwell?

I fell in love with it immediately.

My studies were rigorous, as might be expected from the art of bending the very natural laws of the universe to your will. I soon forgot my childhood escapades through the woodlands, as my world became one of libraries filled with musty tomes, elaborate parties with even more elaborate costumes, the thrill of arcane energy surging through me as I successfully cast a spell, and the sudden sensation of emptiness as I messed something up and the energy I had gathered fizzled to nothing. Thoughts of the Sunwell took ever greater prominence in my mind, that wondrous pool of power so close yet still out of reach. The beasts and boughs that birthed my love of the Sunwell were forgotten, replaced by incantations and constructs.

Occasionally, I would leave my studies for a few days to return home. These “holidays” were supposed to rest my mind, but in my time away all my thoughts were turned back to Silvermoon, to those spells and tomes, arcane symbols filling my dreams. I hardly glanced at the wild woods surrounding our home. My only joy in those holidays was found in showing off my growing skill to my little brother and sister.

Dar’Khan was growing to be much like me, and on one of these trips he was determined to prove it. “Alty! Alty!” he exclaimed as I opened the doors, the young boy running down the steps of the Spire and up to me. I took a quick step to the side, lest in his enthusiasm he should knock me down and ruin my new violet silk apprentice’s robe.

“Yes, Dar’Khan?” I asked, shying away from the use of the childish nicknames. I was still a child, but I didn’t think of myself as such. I believed that I was too old and refined for such infantile language.

Excited as he was, Dar’Khan didn’t notice the omission. “Look! I figured it out!” In response to my questioning look, he held out his hands and focused, his eyes crossing with the effort as sparks began to leap between his fingertips. Looking at him, I laughed inwardly. Was I really like that once, working so hard just to make some sparks?

“Nice, Dar’Khan,” I told him, my smile almost a smirk. Looking at those sparks, I was unable to resist the urge to show off. “Soon enough you’ll be able to do something like this!”

I held out one hand and with a small effort of will conjured a fist-sized ball of fire, flames licking the air as I held them in place, born from arcane energy and the power of my will. I grinned, not noticing as Dar’Khan’s face dropped, envy flitting across his eyes as he dropped his hands and the sparks faded.

“Oh, will you just stop that?” Alana exclaimed, walking slowly down the steps. “You’re going to burn the house down!” While she would not reach puberty for several more years, she already possessed a certain grace that Dar’Khan and I both lacked, and she was by far the most responsible of the three of us. I obediently extinguished the flame, and the three of us went to the dining hall.

As time passed, Dar’Khan eventually joined me in Silvermoon, though that did not bring us as close together as I thought it would, as I was far ahead of him in our studies. Alana almost became a stranger to me as she grew into a young woman, taking up more and more of our parents’ duties at the Spire. She had no interest in learning any magic beyond what was needed to use the various arcane devices and constructs that were required to maintain the Spire. While our parents were still alive and well, she became known as the Lady of Dawnstar Spire, a figure of grace and beauty. But I never got to know the Lady of Dawnstar Spire. I knew a little girl who would climb trees barefoot and cradle lynx cubs while their mothers watched patiently. Looking back, I realize she must have thought something very similar about me.

The only member of my family I saw with any regularity was my father, an irony, as he had been absent for the vast majority of my childhood. When I graduated from the academy, the youngest in our line ever to do so, he was the first to congratulate me, and at the party he introduced me to several of his most powerful and influential friends. Dar’Khan chose not to appear for the festivities.

Dar’Khan sought to catch up to me, to become worthy of my attention, of the attention of our father, but I was too far ahead. He pushed himself harder and harder, growing ever more frustrated at his instructors, at our father, and at me. He began to question certain restrictions on our studies, listening in on Magisters discussing “forbidden magics.” He grew paranoid, believing that the Magisters were hiding secrets from him, that there were greater, more powerful magics that they hid from those beneath them in order to maintain their power over everyone else.

Absorbed in myself as I was, I realized none of this. I continued working my way up through the ranks, while Dar’Khan delved deeper into dark secrets, stealing into the forbidden sections of Silvermoon’s libraries and conducting experiments with strange, alien powers. I ignored the signs, laughing when Dar’Khan told me of his questions, suggesting that he focus on his studies. I had no concept of how far Dar’Khan was willing to go in his endless search for ever greater power.

I was walking slowly through the halls of Dawnstar Spire, flipping through a tome on the Elemental Planes and their chaotic equilibrium, when I felt an unnatural chill overpower me. My veins were ice, my mind suddenly filled with fear and doubt. Darkness closed in around my mind, and I nearly lost myself to the sudden mental onslaught. There was a dark power here, a power unlike anything I had ever felt before. With an effort of will I regained control of myself, dropping the book and running towards the epicenter of the entropic energy.

I threw open the door to one of the Spire’s studies, and stared in shock at Dar’Khan, standing in the center of a circle of unfamiliar runes, speaking words in an inhuman tongue. He didn’t hear the door, enraptured as he was in his spellwork. I watched as tendrils of inky blackness leapt out of his outreached hand, swirling around one another in mesmerizing, sickening patterns before coalescing into a single, infinitely dark point. His chanting reached a crescendo and the point tore open, creating a crude rift in the fabric of space, a hole that opened up into nothingness, into Void.

“Yes!” Dar’Khan exclaimed, laughing madly as he exulted in his dark power. “I did it!”

Finally broken from my shock by the madness in my brother’s voice, I exclaimed, “What is this?!”

Dar’Khan spun to face me, and I was horrified to see that his eyes, normally a pale blue-green, were now pitch black, two empty pits staring, seeking to drown me in their darkness. Then the black faded from his eyes, leaving behind my brother, looking shocked and furious. I felt the energy of the rift shift, the break in his concentration disrupting the spell. The rift snapped shut, leaving behind that single mote of darkness, which grew even smaller, and I felt the pull as it suddenly became a gravitational force of its own. It began to draw everything in the room towards itself, including Dar’Khan.

“You-” Dar’Khan exclaimed, his face contorted in rage as he shouted at me, somehow oblivious to the singularity forming behind him. “No! It was perfect!”

“Get out of there!” I shouted back. In that moment, the years of study fell away, and I saw my little brother standing there, completely heedless of the danger he was in. Instinctively I reached out, calling upon my power and snatching him from the room, pulling him to safety just as the chamber imploded, the entire room collapsing in on that single point and vanishing.

I covered up the explosion, hiding the truth from everyone. I don’t remember what excuse I used, but I knew I couldn’t let anyone find out what Dar’Khan had done. I couldn’t let anyone know that my brother had experimented with dark magic. That would be the end of any hopes he had of being a magister. I confess that the effect it would have on my reputation crossed my mind, but I honestly believe that my concern for my brother was the dominating motivator of my efforts. As far as we had drifted apart, he was still my brother. I didn’t want to see him lose everything because of one mistake. I made him swear that he would never experiment with such foul magic again, hoping that he had learned his lesson and that would be the end of it. Dar’Khan swore that he was done with all such experiments forever. He lied.

But for a time, it seemed that Dar’Khan had kept his word, and other priorities took center stage. Time passed, and even elves age. Our father’s golden hair began to fade to silver, lines appearing around his eyes and mouth. He tutored me personally in the intricacies of rule, determined that I would carry our family’s legacy into the future. He took me to the boundaries of our lands, to the giant Runestones that stood as sentinels, protecting Quel’Thalas and its people from any who would seek to harm them. I followed him to meetings of the Convocation, listening as the fate of our people was decided by this council of elders. They all seemed so certain, their decisions so wise. It was during one of these councils that we received the first warning that we were not as invincible as we thought.

King Anasterian Sunstrider himself presided over this meeting, and despite his nearly three thousand years of life, a venerable age even for an elf, he stood taller and stronger than anyone in the Convocation, bearing a presence that radiated power and confidence, his white hair, lined face, and thin frame seeming less a sign of age and more a sign of wisdom. Here was one who could outlast the very ages of the world. He was speaking to the council about unrest among the Magisters when the doors of the council chamber burst open, several council members leaping from their seats in shock and outrage at the interruption.

Standing in the doorway was a tall elven woman dressed in the green leather and mail of a ranger, a great bow strapped to her back. Spiraling tattoos wrapped around her exposed arms and across her face, giving her an aura of wildness. Her eyes were hard, burning with a cold fire as she ignored everyone but the king.

“What is the meaning of this?” the king demanded. For a moment the hardened ranger shrank back from the force of the king’s words, but she quickly straightened, the fire returning to her eyes. “I am Alleria Windrunner,” she announced, those piercing eyes sweeping over the council. I had heard of the Windrunners, of course. A legendary line of rangers, their skill in battle was unparalleled. And if the stories were true, no Windrunner in history could match Alleria. “I have been beyond our borders,” she continued, “and fought alongside the humans in their war. And I have returned to bring you grave tidings, not just for them but for us.” She frowned, studying us all closely. “The Horde the humans warned of is real and vast and powerful. The bulk of their forces are orcs, but they have other creatures as well. Including the forest trolls.” That got a reaction, gasps and angry mutterings. I had heard rumors about this Horde, some threat that the human kingdoms kept claiming would destroy the world. Most of the Magisters believed the Horde nothing more than a myth. No one knew what an orc was, which made the Magisters even more convinced they were fictious. There was nothing in the world that our libraries did not have record of. But trolls were our ancient enemy, one we had been fighting since the founding of Quel’Thalas. If they had joined this “Horde,” it had suddenly become much more real.

“You say this Horde includes trolls,” one member of the council stated loudly, “yet why should that concern us? Let the trolls follow these strange creatures you tell of, and hopefully march far away from here. Perhaps the humans will even do us a favor and kill them for us!” I laughed along with several others, the idea certainly appealing.

“You do not understand,” Alleria growled. “The Horde is not some distant problem we can ignore and laugh about! They intend to conquer all of Lordaeron, from coast to coast! And that includes us here in Quel’Thalas!”

“Let them come!” I scoffed, unable to remain silent, my mind going back to my recent journey with my father to the Runestones. “Our lands are well-defended – none can pass the Runestones and survive.” My father glanced at me disapprovingly, but said nothing. I may have spoken out of turn, but my words echoed the thoughts of many in the room.

“Oh no?” Alleria snarled at me, the sudden ferocity nearly making me fall back in my seat. “Are you so sure? Because already the trolls have entered our forests. Already they stalk through our lands, killing our people. And the orcs will not be far behind. They are less powerful than trolls, individually, but they are numerous as locusts, enough of them to cover the land. And they are here.”

“Here?” the king scoffed. “Impossible!”

In answer Alleria swung her arm and released an object I hadn’t realized she had been carrying. The troll’s head flew through the air, its short dark hair waving about it, the light catching on a tusk, and fell again, landing at the king’s feet. She told us that the Horde had already broken through the Runestones, cutting and burning their way through our forests to reach Silvermoon. The king was enraged. He mobilized our armies, and for the first time in over two thousand years, the High Elves went to war. But we were not prepared for what came next. The Runestones, which had protected our borders for millennia, were destroyed, their power used by the orcs in foul rituals. Orcs on dragonback burned our forests, our people fleeing to Silvermoon en-masse. Soon our city was under siege. Fortunately, the Runestones were not our only defense.

While our land burned, the Convocation gathered at the Sunwell, and to my surprise my father took me with him. He opened a portal to the Isle of Quel’Danas, at the center of which the Sunwell Plateau. My whole body thrummed with energy as we moved through the elegant buildings, all their bright colors fading to grey before the overwhelming sense of power flooding the isle. Then, I beheld the Sunwell itself. Golden light radiated from the waters, bathing everything in an almost holy radiance. I felt the overpowering urge to bow, to worship, as I beheld something so far above me, something so divine, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even move. Tears filled my eyes as I stared, silent and unmoving, at the heart of all my dreams, all my hopes, all my desires. My father smiled knowingly and left, taking his place in one of the chambers above the Sunwell, one chamber for each member of the Convocation. One by one, streams of golden light flowed from the fount up to the chambers, and I felt my bones quake as the most powerful magi in the world worked in unison, pulling directly from the Sunwell’s energies to weave a spell more powerful than any I had ever even considered attempting. While I could not see it, I felt the power as the council created a magical shield around the entirety of Silvermoon, the city covered with a shimmering golden dome of power.

The Horde threw themselves at the barrier, laying siege on the city for days. All their dark magics and siege weapons did nothing against the shield, orcs, trolls, and ogres alike all proving themselves impotent against the power of the Sunwell. I stood with my father as he channeled the Sunwell’s power, its energies sustaining us, removing any need for food or sleep.

But I had underestimated my father’s advanced age. His body had grown too frail to conduct so much power, and on the second day he began to falter, his spellwork failing. I gasped in shock as he fell, catching him before he could hit the ground. I felt the spell falter as one of its keys was lost, my father clutching his breath and gasping for breath. Before I could decide what to do my father pulled me down, his arms surprisingly strong as he hissed in my ear. “This is your destiny, my son. This is what I have prepared you for all your life. Take your place now. Save our people.”

He let go, and without hesitating I took his place, standing at the center of the chamber and repeating the words my father had chanted for the past day. The Sunwell’s power flowed directly into me, and everything changed. I was more than a mage, more than a Magister. I was a god. All of my senses were heightened, every sound harmonious, every taste exquisite, every sight vibrant. I had the power to raise nations and to make them fall. It was intoxicating. More potent than any wine, more thrilling than any imagined adventure. Nothing and no one could stand against me.

The Horde’s siege fell apart as the orcs left to fight easier battles, and our armies swept away the trolls who stayed behind. My father was laid in our family tomb, and I was raised to a member of the Convocation. I was hailed as a hero, and Dar’Khan watched it all with dark, envious eyes. Time passed, and Dar’Khan advanced through the ranks of the Magisters, but his true dream was always just out of reach. Only the Convocation could channel the Sunwell’s power directly, and only one from any family could ascend to the council.

Then the rumors came of a plague spreading among the human lands to the south, a plague that some claimed was magical in nature. Some of our priests left Quel’Thalas to aid the humans, but I was among those who mocked the rumors.

“Humans are frail creatures,” I would say. “They grow sick at the slightest provocation and die before ever truly reaching adulthood. Magic isn’t needed for illness to spread among them.”

But I was proven wrong, as a human prince discovered the Plague to be the work of a necromancer, raising the afflicted as undead slaves. Some began to question if we were immune, and I laughed. Quel’Thalas had recovered well from the Horde’s invasion, the Runestones restored to their proper places. And if any dared repeat the Horde’s folly, they would break against the power of the Sunwell. Then the human prince, Arthas Menethil, returned from his campaign against the undead. Only he did not return to celebrate. Now the leader of the undead Scourge, Arthas killed his own father and unleashed the Plague of Undeath upon his own people. At parties I mockingly challenged the Prince to dare bring his armies to Quel’Thalas, declaring that he would not find the High Elves so easily defeated.

I never imagined he would answer that challenge. Death came to the High Home of the Elves, and it brought an army with it. Endless hordes of zombies, skeletons, ghosts, and other horrors swarmed over our forests, leaving behind a ragged scar of dead earth. Our rangers proved useless against the swarm. Every elf who fell joined the ranks of Arthas’s army, many unable to fight back as their fallen loved ones slaughtered them. I went with the rest of the Convocation to the Sunwell Plateau, preparing the spell to protect our people from the onslaught of the Dead. We knew that even one who could command the dead could not overcome the power of the Sunwell.

We were correct, but Arthas didn’t need to overcome the Sunwell’s power. For he knew of its power, and he had prepared for it. His agents had sought out and found one who could be tempted. This elven sorcerer was promised the power of the Sunwell for himself, all he would need to do is give Arthas the secrets to our protections and keep the shield from ever being raised.

I stood in the chamber for my father had died years before, preparing to cast the spell. Strands of golden energy already rose from the Sunwell to several of the other chambers, but as I prepared, I saw one of those strands vanish, as if cut off suddenly. I watched in shock, not comprehending as another strand vanished. Only when the third was cut did I realize the truth: The Convocation was under attack!

 _But how?_ I questioned. _Nothing can break through here._

That is when I realized the truth. _That’s because they didn’t break through. They were invited in._

**_Treason._ **

I was loath to leave my spellwork, but I knew that if I didn’t, no one would be left to start the spell again. I raced out of my chamber towards another that still had a band of light streaming into it, but I arrived too late, watching as the Magister within was impaled through the heart by a long elvish blade, dropping to the ground. The murderer, a dark-haired figure dressed in the robes of a Magister, turned to face me, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “It’s been a long time, brother,” Dar’Khan stated in a cordial manner that belied the bloodstained blade in his hand.

For a moment I simply stood there in shocked silence. It had been years since I had seen Dar’Khan. I tried to deny it, not believing that my brother could be the traitor. _It must be an illusion, a trick!_ But it was no trick. Suddenly I remembered the dark experiments, the envious glances, the bitter words. I was forced to open my eyes to an entire history that I had ignored, that I had pretended didn’t exist.

“How could you do this?!” I finally exclaimed, gesturing at the slain magister, at the other chambers, at everything, seeking for anything to make the world make sense again. “You are betraying our people to that… monster!”

“Arthas has promised me power,” he hissed. “The power that you and the rest of the Convocation denied me! You always thought yourselves better than me. You always thought yourselves my masters. But now **I** have the power! The Sunwell’s power will all be mine! Lord Arthas has promised it to me, and already I have claimed much of it from our foolish friends, who have been so helpfully channeling it.” He began to glow with a cold blue light, like the chill of death, tendrils of darkness unfurling from the shadows around us, his eyes going pitch black, just like they did on that day so long ago. “Brother dear,” he hissed with saccharin sweetness, “I am more than you have ever been.”

He intended to kill me, using his stolen power. But he forgot that I too had been channeling the Sunwell’s power, and unlike him, I had experience with directing its unbound energies. I collected those energies, light swirling around me, and drew from the Sunwell’s limitless might, my body and mind suddenly filled with its glorious power. Golden light streamed from my body, and I was once more a god. The power wanted to be let loose, wanted to be released. It urged me to destroy this traitor, this worm who dared befoul this sacred place, to end his miserable existence and wipe his stain from the world.

But I couldn’t. As I prepared to destroy the foul creature before me, I saw the pain that had brought him here, and remembered that this wasn’t just some monster, he was my brother. The boy I had played with, who I had showed off to, who I had left dangling behind me as he desperately tried to be worthy of the attention that I and our father refused to give him. The power begged to be released, to turn this betrayer to ash, but I couldn’t do it. Instead, I used that power to tear open the fabric of reality behind me, opening a portal. I didn’t think of where it led, only one thought on my mind: _Take me home._ I fell backwards through the portal, watching the victorious smirk on my brother’s face before the portal snapped shut.

I didn’t appear in my large apartment in Silvermoon as I had expected, or even in the halls of Dawnstar Spire. Instead I found myself in the boughs of a large tree, one that was both familiar and alien to me. I was in a large forest, but the golden leaves were gone, the silver bark bleached into a bone-white. The grass beneath was withered and blackened, and as I dropped to the ground, I felt like I was standing in the ghost of a forest, instead of the forest itself. I almost told myself that this was a nightmare, that this couldn’t be real, but I stopped myself. Up in my high tower, distant from the reality, I had heard the reports. But I wasn’t in my high tower anymore. I could almost picture it, the mindless swarms of the dead rolling across the landscape, the land itself dying where they marched.

Despite the shocking change, I soon realized where I was. Looking into the distance, I saw the tip of Dawnstar Spire reaching out above the canopy of skeletal trees, and I was suddenly struck by a horrific realization.

**_Alana!_ **

I raced through the dead forest, leaping over fallen limbs, trying not to think of what the empty, vaguely-elf shaped imprints in the shrubbery meant. I broke out of the tree line and found myself on a battlefield. Broken arcane guardians, the golems which protected our home, were scattered amid the broken bodies of rotting ghouls, strange spider-like creatures, and other, fresher corpses. I searched frantically, but Alana was nowhere to be found.

 _She must have found someway out,_ I thought, my mind a blur. _She would have escaped, fled to Silvermoon…_ I realized then that because of me, that wouldn’t be much better. I pushed the thoughts away, bursting through the broken doors of the Spire and racing up the stairs. I found broken golems, slaughtered servants, and the remnants of the Scourge, but Alana was nowhere to be found. Then, at the top of the Spire, I found a trio of ghouls, horrific undead creatures with long fangs, gnarled bony claws, and cadaverous forms, digging their talons into a corpse, shoveling flesh into their monstrous jaws. With a shout of fury, I hurled an immense bolt of flame, incinerating the three of them in an instant. I rushed forward and fell to my knees, sobbing into my hands.

A gaping hole took up much of Alana’s chest, chunks of flesh torn free, broken ribs piercing the skin at unnatural angles, organs torn to pieces. The desecration left something nearly unrecognizable as anything other than a ravaged piece of meat. Only her face was untouched, almost miraculously so, her eyes closed. If I looked only at her face, I could almost imagine she was simply sleeping. Ignoring the blood soaking into my extravagant silk robes, I took her broken body into my arms, cradling her.

 _Why did it have to be her?_ I questioned the darkness. _She wasn’t like us._ I saw her then, both the little girl and the Lady of Dawnstar Spire, and she wasn’t a stranger anymore. I saw the girl reflected in the Lady’s care for her servants, in her kindness to all those whom she called guests. _She didn’t hunger after power. She wasn’t absorbed in herself. She was better than us._

I saw myself then as well. I saw the little boy I had been, running through the woods, and I watched as he grew and forgot everything he once knew. I watched as he stopped seeing everyone around him, focused only on his own selfish desires. I watched as he let the seeds of hatred grow in his own brother. I watched as his pride, my pride, destroyed him.

I couldn’t bury Alana. To bury her, to leave her body at all, was to leave the chance for her to be raised as one of those monstrosities. So, I conjured flames and burned my sister’s body, the last spell I ever cast. Obsession with the arcane and the power of the Sunwell led both myself and Dar’Khan down our paths, and I would have nothing more to do with it. I took some clothes from the servant’s quarters and cast aside my costly robes, leaving behind all the trapping of the Magister behind me. The Magister I had been was gone. I didn’t yet know much about the man who had taken his place, but others came to refer to him as the Brother of the Betrayer.


End file.
